Love Lies Bleeding
by Anika Palesa
Summary: A side of Hogwarts that is rarely seen, Slytherin, unvarnished. It is, indeed, not the easiest place to live in. Follow the footsteps of Emma Dobbs, during her school years. A world of violence, and living under facades, but salvation can be found as well
1. Concrete Angel

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Author's Note : Super, special thanks to Thalia, without whom, this entire work would not be possible. I owe her a lot, and I just want to make it known that though the pairing mentioned in this story might still have existed, it would be nothing interesting without her. All thanks go to her Smiteyness, and a special nod should be given to her characterizations of Cassius Warrington and Solan Montague.

Disclaimer: I am poor and own nothing, save the evil, sinister Mikel Dobbs, which I am not quick to confess to owning. All characters, situations, places, etc. therein belong to J. K. Rowling unless otherwise noted. No copyright is being infringed and no money is being made. Etc. Etc. Etc.

"She walks to school with the lunch she packed  
Nobody knows what she's holding back  
Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday  
She hides the bruises with linen and lace  


The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask  
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask  
Bearing the burden of a secret storm  
Sometimes she wishes she was never born"

The young Dobbs girl did not stand out against the sea of black cloaks that filled the Great Hall at the Sorting Ceremony. In fact, her small, frail body was completely engulfed by the other first years surrounding her. Their chatter rose up against the high, enchanted ceiling, but she said nothing, felt nothing. The girl filed in with the other new students as she had been told to do and stood in front of the room, looking completely nonplussed at the splendour around her. Her mouth stayed in a thin, straight line and her eyes gazed at the tattered old hat as it sang. 

Almost out of character for a girl her age, she did not bounce up to the stool when the name "Dobbs, Emma" was called in a display of eternal youth. She did not smile or blush or look as if she was living at all. Rather, she slowly stepped forward out of line and sat down, as if it were an entirely natural act to occur at such a time and place.

The entire hall watched as the hat Sorted the small, pale girl with the sunken, clouded blue eyes. A rather surprising declaration of "SLYTHERIN!" sent the table clad in green and silver to leap to their feet in celebration. As if fleeing from an evil unseen, she took the hat off her head and sprang for her destined table. Her movements were quickly intercepted by a rather nasty looking young man.

"Brother," she breathed in a hushed tone, "I am where you wanted me."

"I know, sister," Mikel Dobbs replied, an evil smirk befalling his face, "Sit."

He pulled her down into a seat at the Slytherin table, which had long since returned to silence. And she sat...still...hard...cold. She showed no emotion as other students were chosen for her new House. No clapping rang from her scarred hands. No laughter emitted from her sallow face.

"Through the wind and the rain  
She stands hard as a stone  
In a world that she can't rise above  
But her dreams give her wings  
And she flies to a place where she's loved  
Concrete angel"

Several days and nights had passed since the night of the Sorting, and most of the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had already fallen into the stupor that came along with the year's first days of school. Everyone was so caught up their schedules…in their teachers…in their lives that no one noticed a little first year girl practically clinging to a certain Slytherin Prefect. No one noticed his rough manner with her, no one noticed the tears that were permanently set in the corner of Emma Dobbs's eyes. 

Because no one seemed to care._  
_

"Somebody cries in the middle of the night  
The neighbours hear, but they turn out the lights  
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate  
When morning comes it'll be too late"

"She's puny," grunted Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint, his hand rubbing his expensive broomstick methodically.

"Hardly worth having around," agreed Darius Bole distastefully, "Why do you bother?"

The Slytherin Keeper sneered at his fellow teamates with a vulgar expression on his face. He had insisted his little sister accompany him to the year's first practice, and he had thrown her into a corner of the locker room, her body huddling up so as to keep out of the way. The boys had taken a great interest in examining Dobbs's little sister.

Draco Malfoy turned his face towards Mikel. "Oy, what are you going to do with her?"

"Do?" Mikel leaned against the wall calmly, successfully looking nonchalant.

Vittorio Derrick smirked in an unhealthy, evil manner. "Y'know what we mean, Dobbs, what're you going to use her for?"

The small bundle that was Emma Dobbs trembled when her brother began to describe his plans for his weak sister. The talk went on for several minutes before an anxious Cassius Warrington cut in ("As fascinating as the idea of scrutinizing the little girl might be for _you_ lot, I think we have PRACTICE?") and Solan Montague agreed loudly. The rest of the team gave in and Mikel Dobbs dragged his sister out of her corner and onto the field, where she was forced to sit and watch the three hour practice.

__

"Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone  
In a world that she can't rise above  
But her dreams give her wings  
And she flies to a place where she's loved  
Concrete angel"

It was custom for new members of the great and noble House of Slytherin to undergo a sort of….Initiation…into the ranks of the sinister organization. And, no amount of money or power in your family would keep you from having to experience the traditional processes. What was required varied for each new member, from extremely embarrassing to extremely outrageous, but no one protested. Ever.

The plans were made for the younger sister of Mikel Dobbs, and the plan of her Initiation was put into action on the fourth day of her new school year - the day the first year Slytherins had Transfiguration.

Emma Dobbs had always been told to do what was required of her - to blend in and be a model student - to follow the rules and meet and rise above all expectations. Arriving to class on time was just one of the many expectations she was told to meet. Today would be no exception, so, as she was prone to do, she left breakfast with precisely fifteen minutes to get to her first class of the day, which happened to be with the intimidating Professor McGonagall.

She had already walked several paces down the hallway when she realised she had no idea where Professor McGonagall or her Transfiguration class might even _remotely_ be located. Shrugging lightly, she turned to the first housemate she met; Draco Malfoy and his two bullies of friends only sneered menacingly at her as she asked for directions.

Only discouraged the tiniest bit, as Malfoy had never been one of her favourite people, having met him before Hogwarts. A few steps later, she saw Alexandra Richardson, an older Slytherin girl with a very sweet overall disposition. A small inquiry and a few directions later, Emma thanked the girl and set off in the way she had been pointed.

It was only when Emma realised that Alexandra had given her directions to the girl's loo on the fourth floor that she began to panic slightly. Class would be starting relatively soon, and she would prefer to get there early enough to have a seat close to the teacher. Her eyesight had never been very good.

She walked quickly, eyes darting to and fro. She inquired of the location of her desired classroom of every Slytherin she encountered for the next ten minutes. Each one either laughed at her like Malfoy, or gave her directions to locations she had already visited. More than once, she went on a wild goose chase.

The bell for the beginning of class rang, and she hysterically inquired of the location of the Transfiguration classroom of every student who passed, caring not for which House they belonged. No one responded. No one stopped. No one even batted an eye. And Emma Dobbs slumped, defeated, onto the floor.

"A statue stands in a shaded place  
An angel girl with an upturned face  
A name is written on a polished rock  
A broken heart that the world forgot"

"Oy, what're you doing here?" inquired an older Gryffindor boy with sandy blonde hair.

Emma's head rose to look at him slowly. She tried to back away, but his foot was planted heavily on the corner of her robe. "I…I…" she looked around, trying to come up with an excuse better than "I'm lost".

"Well, it'd probably be easier to figure out what you're doing if you got off the floor," the boy went on, offering a hand to her, and she took it, standing rather unsteadily, "And I hope you don't mind hurrying it up a bit, as I'm late for class."

"So am I," she managed to reply, withdrawing her hand from his slowly, "For Transfiguration…wherever that might be…do you know?"

"Of course," he nodded in response, "Just go up the stairs to your right, hang a left at the statue of Uric the Oddball and then walk up the flight of stairs that will be on the right. It's beside a painting of Godric Gryffindor. You can't miss it."

"Thank you," she nodded gratefully, gathering up her things and turning to leave, but she was restricted by his foot. "Oh, your foot seems to be keeping me here."

He looked down, and indeed, his foot was pinning her robe to the ground. "Terribly sorry about that," he apologised, removing it, "Don't know my own strength. My name's Seamus Finnigan by the way," he looked up, "and you are…gone." Without a doubt, the small Slytherin girl has already fled the scene. Seamus shrugged and continued on his way to class, figuring he would never see the girl again, so it didn't matter that he hadn't gotten _her_ name.

Seamus Finnigan was very wrong. Emma Dobbs had hear his name ringing through the halls as she ran towards the statue of Uric the Oddball. She wrote the name down in her notebook as McGonagall chastised her for not arriving on time, but she wasn't listening. Someone, for once, had seen her.

__

"Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone  
In a world that she can't rise above  
But her dreams give her wings  
And she flies to a place where she's loved  
Concrete angel"


	2. Good Guys

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Author's Note : More thanks to Thalia and her helpful words of encouragement and plotting when needed. Thanks to Thalia, Sarah, Love In Vein, and Sky for reviewing my last chapter. And thanks to all those super-cool people who fangirled me after reading this.

Disclaimer: I am poor and own nothing, save the evil, sinister Mikel Dobbs, which I am not quick to confess to owning. All characters, situations, places, etc. therein belong to J. K. Rowling unless otherwise noted. Lyrics cited in italics belong to Aqua. No copyright is being infringed and no money is being made. Etc. Etc. Etc.

And a scene, so oddly familiar to the one that came before it - a scene that never tarnished with age or rusted with wear - a scene so predictable that people wanted to scream out in the agony of the monotony of it all, existed once more. Only this time, this time unlike the one that came four years before, there was no sullen faced first-year walking in amongst the new, shiny faces. There was only a shell, cold and heartless, bent over a plate at the Slytherin table.

She sat, hunched over, eyes darting to and fro but really _seeing_ the endless dance of the ages that played out before her. Her mind, her mind was reeling, rewinding and fast forwarding through her life - through faces and memories she would have rather forgotten, but couldn't. Things that even devils cower before and cause men fall to the ground in shame. Things that she herself had experienced.

__

"You dream a dream  
But you never wake up  
You're so afraid  
That the dream is over"

A child - herself not so long ago - sitting in a chair…the room dark and bare. The ropes that bound her tight - boring into her skin with so much pain that it took her very breath to keep her from dying. And her brother, the nasty and sadistic thing that paced before her dropping insults as though they were grapes on wining day. She flinched as his hand collided with her cheek and she spit blood. "Tell me the names of the mudbloods," he was demanding, but his voice….evil and growing fainter with the second and the Headmaster's voice seem to replace his very own.

__

"Open your eyes and you'll see  
Daydreaming won't conquer me  
Won't conquer me, no it won't conquer me"

  
Her head flew up from her plate and she stared at the ancient wizard who stood so solemnly at the head of the room. A new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is what she took from his mindless droning. Warrington. Cassius Warrington. The name rang with familiarity in her bloodstream and her eyes stared at the smug-faced professor at the High Table. It was he who had called the hungry-eyes Quidditch team off her so many years ago, it was he who had silently taken care of a rather nasty Howler of hers…and it was he who had betrayed her brother.

He was responsible for the death of Marcus Flint. And he was responsible for Mikel's anger. The anger he took out on his sister. The punishments he rendered in the dungeons of her soul.

Yet there he was, so arrogant and self-assured, sitting amongst a table of gods and goddess, drinking the sweet ambrosia of heaven. He lifted his glass to the mention of his name and she felt like wretching. How was that he - he who had done so many right things and so many wrong things - he had been so close to her world, yet showed no sign that he would ever knowledge it's existence?

__

"Cause only the good guys can get, what they're coming for  
And all of the dreamers must take, what's apart  
Only the good guys receive, what they came here for  
And all of you dreamers, will leave with a broken heart"

She hardly had time, to conspire and plot against the bastard's life at this place - this mockery of a school before the sham of a Head Girl had stepped up before the audience of young people and opened her mouth to speak. And speak she did, of the death of a Gryffindor Mudblood…murdered only a week prior to the beginning of the term.

And no muscle in her body willed the corners of her mouth to pinch upwards slightly in a mockery of a proud expression, but it did, nonetheless. It was _her_ brother, not Malfoy's blasted father or Zabini himself who had been responsible - her flesh and blood had muttered the two words that closed Dean Thomas's eyes forever.

__

"Reality  
You better face it  
Your blood is red  
One bite, you'll taste it"

A clash of metals and worlds and ages and people resounded in her ears as her wondering eyes planted themselves on the face…the remains of a face on the other side of the room. The green of his eyes were clouded by pain unequalled by an uttered Cruciatus Curse that came from the magic of a dead and decaying skeleton six foot under. He…this manchild…dared to mourn openly, dared to wear his emotions on his sleeve and dared to remember? Remember the dead after they were gone? 

It was unspoken in her world - pain and fear and death - lives went on turning round even after their very wheels were broken and lying forgotten in the dust. Yet in _this _world, the world of light and life, pain was shared, pain was…pain was _tolerable. _So much pain, immeasurable, painted the once-smiling face of the sandy-haired boy and she wondered how many times she'd overlooked that face before, because of the impure blood that pulsed through it. There was a time, one small moment of weakness, when she did not overlook that face, because she was lost and forlorn, needing directions to Tranfiguration class, but she hardly remembered that now.

It was unfair. It was bloody injustice, when someone her brother actively hunted could sit up at a High table and smirk in pretense that nothing was wrong, as self-assured and whole as if he had nothing to worry about outside the possibility of unruly students. It was unfair that Gryffindork mudbloods and halfbloods could cry and be comforted, wallow in their misery, weep and wail openly... when she had gone through what she had... silent. It was unfair that _she_ was the only one who had to wear a mask, and hide her troubles from the world. And those pompous, narcissistic mudbloods, so wrapped up in their little pityfests that they...

__

"Open your eyes and you'll see  
Daydreaming won't conquer me  
Won't conquer me, no it won't conquer me"

And then the voice, menacing and low at first, but growing with power as it vibrated through her very subsistence, pulled her eyes out of their very sockets and away from Seamus Finnigan. Her brother's voice, as though he _knew _when her thoughts disobeyed the code of her life, rang sharply, commanding her to know nothing, fee nothing be nothing. It commanded that she, the little lifeless bint, play the role that kept her alive to see the next day though she cursed it with her own existence.

Her body screamed that she obey what her mind, brainwashed from the pain and agony of her life, told her to do. And she turned, sharply, to the newcomer seated next to her and remarked as loudly as her tongue dared, "Thomas got what he deserved. And did you see how nervous Granger was? She's a damnable Mudblood and if any of us her lucky she'll be next. And the 'Memorial Service' for the bastard that was offed? You better not be at it. No self-respecting Slytherin _will_."

__

"Cause only the good guys can get, what they're coming for  
And all of the dreamers must take, what's apart  
Only the good guys receive, what they came here for  
And all of you dreamers, will leave with a broken heart"

And she, so well shaped and formed from years of a hard moulding process was able to ignore the indignant cries that leapt up from the Ravenclaw table and spread like a virus to the very roots of the student body. They swelled in anger against the pompous outcry of some slimy Slytherin girl who dared say such mean and nasty things regarding an innocent victim of the wrath of the War between Good and Evil. But her mouth smirked, nonetheless, proud of the job which it had accomplished - proud of her strength born from weakness.

__

"Cause only the good guys can get, what they're coming for  
And all of the dreamers must take, what's apart  
Only the good guys receive, what they came here for  
And all of you dreamers, will leave with a broken heart"

Emma didn't care. Let them scorn and hate. Let them glare and shout and curse her. She cared not for their empty words. They were empty, after all, not full like Mikel's, not invading into her soul. She had to survive somehow, she reflected in a solemn sort of triumph, and among her kind, this was the only way.

__

"Only the good guys can get, what they're coming for  
And all of the dreamers must take, what's apart  
Only the good guys receive, what they came here for  
And all of you dreamers, will leave with a broken heart"


End file.
